Art d’Ecco Weaves a Metaphysical Pop Tale on Serene Demon

“I’m on the inside reaching out,” Art d’Ecco whispers during the chorus of “Shell Shock,” the ninth track on the enigmatic Canadian glam rocker’s newest album Serene Demon. Sung from the perspective of a lucid state, the verse acts like an impromptu thesis for the project, one where the already unconventional artist weaves an even more striking, all-embracing picture of his clashing opinions about life itself. How can something as awful as a demon appear so cloudless and bright? d’Ecco not only tackles the multi-faceted concept of evil, but accepts how it makes him feel trapped at times—trying to assemble something, anything, out of the agonizing fear and hopelessness. 

When describing the music that d’Ecco and artists of a similar fervor create, the go-to buzzword phrases are usually along the lines of “idiosyncratic” or “left-of-field.” But these terms alone would barely scrape the surface of Serene Demon, d’Ecco’s fifth release, a record that borrows sounds and motifs from years of pop history—similar to Cindy Lee—and blends them into a wondrous world of eccentric bliss. There’s moments of off-kilter 2010s indie twee—where d’Ecco’s already wispy voice waivers like Deerhunter’s Bradford Cox—slick ‘80s Hall and Oates-style coolness, winding ‘70s disco and even traces of ‘60s psych-folk. With a staggering list of inspirations and comparisons, d’Ecco doesn’t limit himself to making an album that sounds like just one of them. Instead, he seamlessly jumps from one idea to another as Serene Demon plays on, the result being a work that finds the balance between zany busyness and sharp-eyed focus. 

Over 30 musicians contributed to Serene Demon, whose identities are continuously revealed as the album goes on. They come in waves—from the stark saxophone that wails during the dissent of “True Believer” to the cowbell taps that skitter in the beginning of “Tree of Life”—and add even more theatrical flair to d’Ecco’s ambitious vocal performance. He approaches the album’s lyrics with an acute awareness of his mortal limitations, and how happiness—which he paints as a fleeting character—can either enhance or diminish the human experience. It’s a philosophical album, most outwardly shown by the reference to Albert Camus’ The Stranger on the sprawling, instrumental track “Meursault’s Walk,” and doesn’t shy away from asking uncomfortable, almost impossible queries. “Are you dealing with the pain now?” he shakily interrogates on “Survival of the Fittest,” in a frantic tone that makes the question seem like a challenge. “Only the strong will survive,” he declares shortly after, like a leading voice at the end of times who’s trying to make peace with that sentiment himself. 

There’s other moments that see d’Ecco as this authority figure that buries his existential panic within the restrained acceptance of hard truths. “Serene Demon” is a seven-minute epic-style extension of this, where the intro’s subsiding string symphony and kiltering keys sound like time literally slipping away. He feels embalmed in apathy, watching happiness flicker on and off as the years trudge on (“I hardly noticed when it hung around”). d’Ecco captures the sense of passing through life without actually living, making a phrase like “You’ll be happy in a little while” sound more like a menial threat than something to look forward to. A new, lively song emerges from the last two minutes of the track, with spinning guitars, bongos and a brisk, frenzied piano catapulting d’Ecco into the inevitable future. “It’s just a matter of time,” he hurriedly repeats, having learned that its passing will happen regardless of what you’ve made of it. “Serene Demon” executes the role of a title track with ease—as a fearless, standout rhapsody that’s both climatic and pensive, embodying the album’s dissertative identity through a chilling force. 

Bold philosophical analysis aside, Serene Demon is simply an enjoyable album to listen to, its vast textural content creating a baroque funhouse of sound. “Tree Of Life” has oozing synths, a DFA-esque strobing bassline and a metaphorical sexiness that channels mid-career Of Montreal lyricsm. “I could be the flower growing in your garden,” d’Ecco coos, the hallucinogenic nature visuals flipping the nursery rhyme he references right on its head: “Hush my darling / don’t you cry.” “Honeycomb” expands this sunny, freak-folk sound—a slight diversion from the latter half of the album’s pragmatic doom—a steel pan and animated handclaps making for a sweet emotional 180. The last song, the aptly-titled “A Change of Scenery,” starts off with sniveling violins and swirling wind turbines and adapts to include mod, Stereolab-like bell hits and an expeditious kick cymbal. “It’s coming back to me,” d’Ecco utters, as he closes out the track with a gentle plea for ascension—“Please take me there.”

Serene Demon is intoxicatingly honest, and brings intimate truths of an artist whose birth name is still unknown to light. It’s swarming with ideas without being oversaturated, and challenges reality without pretending to have the answers. In creating a work that’s foreboding yet snappy, Art d’Ecco chips away at the human condition in a way that’s most progressive for him: welcoming the unfortunate powers that be with an unwavering smile, knowing that the only strategy is staying put in the now—whether he likes this or not.

Alli Dempsey is a freelance music and culture writer based in Staten Island, NYC. She interned for Paste’s music section in the fall of 2024 and is a graduate of NYU’s Arthur L. Carter School of Journalism.